


Infatuation

by WizardSandwich



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Denial of Feelings, Feelings, M/M, Messy Feelings, POV Second Person, idw-ish elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: Seduction is nothing but a manipulation, in the end.(Or, love has always been something to try to take advantage of.)
Relationships: Ironhide/Prowl
Kudos: 22





	Infatuation

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in one sitting so rip me
> 
> this fic also didn't go where i was originally intending but it's nice either way i think

You have never paid much attention to Ironhide outside of battles and meetings. He’s an easy thing to ignore, practically stuck to Optimus’ side. If it weren’t for Jazz, you would have never even known of his interest in you. And, were it not for desperation, you’d never act on it.

As it is, Ironhide is enamored with you, behind the justified and needed caution and distrust (—you are a tactician, after all. A skilled manipulator of things and situations and people). It is easy to ignore if you know how not to look—and you’re good at not looking. You’re good at getting people not to look at things.

But, desperate times call for desperate measures. You pretend desperate doesn’t mean “backed into a corner.” That it doesn’t mean you’re digging into a contingency carefully hidden behind contingencies.

“Why’re you here, Prowl?” Ironhide asks, distrustful, as you slide yourself onto the table in front of him. He has every right to be, considering who you are and what you’ve done. You’ve never had any illusions about yourself.

“I need your help,” you say, biting down on Ironhide’s innate curiosity. The part of him that wants answers to his questions and the part that’s always had a hard time saying no to you.

Ironhide’s optics—not quite hard and cold—soften a bit. Just enough that you know you can have him.

“What do you need, Prowl?” he asks.

You bite your lip, enough to make a show of it but not enough to seem purposeful, and cross your leg over the other. Ironhide’s optics catch on your mouth. On the deliberate way you make a point of noticing him. You run your glossa over the metal caught between your denta.

You spend a moment wetting your lips before you speak, “I need you to get Optimus to listen to me.”

His optics meet yours once more, a challenge in his gaze. “And why should I do that?” Ironhide asks.

“Because,” you lean forward, showing off the way your bumper curves—a trick you’ve tried to learn from Jazz, “he’ll never listen to me.”

“You’re proposing we kill off three entire squadrons, Prowl,” Ironhide growls. It sends a jolt of _something_ down your backstrut. You ignore it. “I wouldn’t agree to it either.”

“We need that energon,” you almost hiss back, optics narrowing. You cannot keep the guise quite as well as you’d like too, but you try to seem nonchalant. You press your palms against the edge of the table. You hope he ignores the way your digits clench.

“And we need our soldiers alive,” Ironhide returns. “Are you really that sparkless?”

The accusation runs deep for a myriad of reasons. More often than not, it is the thing that makes you make others want to hurt. You cannot help yourself.

“I thought that was what you liked about me, Ironhide? The sparklessness?” you say, making a point to bare your fangs at him. “Otherwise, what are you so enamored with?”

Ironhide’s optical ridges furrow. He opens his mouth to speak. Then he closes it again. He stares at you, considering and you flare your doorwings in a silent challenge.

“I slagging hate that about you,” Ironhide finally says, his voice calm. You would call it patronizing if it weren’t for the raw honesty.

“What is it then? What the frag do you keep looking at?”

You do not know what else to say. You don’t know how to hurt him and mean it. This is a contingency for a reason. You can’t hurt Ironhide like everyone else. You can’t hurt him like he can hurt you.

“Does it matter?” he asks.

“Of course it does,” you snap.

You give up any pretenses of seduction, sliding off the table and stepping toward him with an almost intimidating glare. Ironhide isn’t fazed. He just looks down at you, his expression caught between contemplation and something you don’t want to put a name to.

“When I first saw you, you were shooting a Decepticon’s spark out,” Ironhide says after a moment. “You were fierce and strong and powerful. But that ain’t what got me. You just, kept pushing, even when you were surrounded and didn’t know anyone was there to save you. You’re strong, determined. Smarter than the Pit too. Got a mouth than can make even Prime blush.”

Ironhide pauses, letting his gaze rest on you. You can feel the heat in your face, the wideness of your optics. You weren’t—aren’t—prepared for this. Honesty, in the face of who you are. Everyone knows to never be honest with you except to demean. They know how you can twist and turn everything they know.

“You're gorgeous too,” Ironhide finally says, leaning down to press a servo under your chin. He tilts your helm up to match the angle of his own. “Do you want this, Prowl?”

You nod before you can think better of yourself, caught in a trap of your own making. Ironhide smiles and leans forward just enough to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“That good?” he asks, when he pulls away.

You can only stumble back, gripping the table under your servos once more. You stare at him. It is as if you’ve just met him, as if you’ve realized something that could make or break you. And it will. Because, you love Ironhide.

He reaches for you before thinking better of himself. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you choke out. “I’m just fine. Speak to Optimus for me, won’t you?”

You turn to leave. But Ironhide places a servo on your shoulder and doesn’t let you. “You can’t run away from this.”

“Watch me,” you say, not even facing him. You try to tug your shoulder from his grip, but he forces you to face him.

“ _Prowl_ ,” he says desperately.

You wrench back and this time he lets you go. “What do you want me to say?”

“What is this, Prowl?” he demands of you. “What are you doing? What are we doing?”

It is too big of a confession to say you don’t know. Too big of a thing to tell him that you thought you knew, but now he’s tripping you up. It is all too much.

“I don’t know,” you say, eventually, looking down at your pedes. You feel like a youngling out of their depth.

Ironhide sighs. He opens his arms, “Come here.”

You know you shouldn’t. You should just turn and leave. It’s the smart thing. _The best thing._ But, as anyone would ever tell you, you don’t know what’s best.

You let Ironhide take you into his arms and hold you close.

“We’re talking about this tomorrow,” he says. “Don’t think you’re getting out of it.”

You nod, making your chevron clink against his chest.


End file.
